Shiver Sense
It was a fine morning as I rolled out of bed, stretching my long, muscular arms, and shaking my long, gloriously soft red hair---yeah, who am I kidding!
It wasn't a fine morning. Or rather, it isn't a fine morning. My feet trip over themselves, causing me to hop around, as I scurry to my closet to whip through my available clothing options.
Let's see here, I have a pair of skinny jeans, 3 t-shirts, a blouse, a black and red checkered skirt, and some scrubs. . . I really do need to do laundry.
Pulling out the jeans and a gray t-shirt, I rush through the morning process. I'm almost about to brush my teeth before Fiona calls out "Meds, Yusa!"
Oh, yeah, right. Setting down my toothbrush, which is currently properly covered with toothpaste, I rush downstairs. On the table is both my Lexapro---Fiona was always so nice and prepared for everything, wasn't she?---along with a glass of water. Downing a quick gulp of water, I swallow my Lexipro, ugh, thank goodness I don't have to split it anymore, and rush back up to the bathroom.
My toothbrush with toothpaste is still sitting there, nice and proper, and I hurry through that process before running back to my room to make sure I have all my tiny trinkets. Watch, check. Phone, check. Necklace?
My hand flies up to my neck as I gaze around the room. Where is it, where is it?!
There! On my wardrobe, half hidden by what can only be described as a mass of junk---not that the stuff isn't useful, but I never use it, and it's just amassed into a pile. Snatching my necklace from among them---without knocking anything off, I grin, put it on, and rush back downstairs.
Fiona's already waiting for me. "Your backpack is in the car already, and so is your tablet." Never let it be said that my foster mother isn't amazing.
Yes, foster. My parents died when I was young, by the hands of some very careless bullies. I don't mean that they just didn't care, I mean that these bullies weren't careful as they tried to set some of my stuff on fire. The blaze found my house, decided it was very hungry, and that a house, with my parents inside, was much better than the little pile they'd amassed.
Yeah, not a fun memory. I try my best to keep it from showing though, and I guess it succeeds, because Fiona returns my grin with an eye-roll and a smirk. "Geez, you'd think you're going to an awesome place, or something, not Reggard's Parochial High."
I snort, laughing as we get into the car. "What, Reggard's isn't awesome?" At her incredulous look, my laughter escalated. "I'm kidding, just kidding." Yeeeeaaaah, Reggard's Parochial was a high school funded by the local church. They were a very. . . religious bunch, but there were no other schools in town.
Crappy, I know, but it's all we got. Quite a few of the kids there take to some of their practices easily, but for people like me, who refused to be forced into a belief, and didn't actually believe in something like that anyways. . . well, it's sucky.
A few minutes of laughter and silence as we drove later, and there it was. Reggard's Parochial, the only high school in town, and home to hell. Ironic? Yes. Overstatement? Not really.
See, the thing is, many people at Reggard's, and admittedly many people in this small town of Hildeburg, were very judgmental. Very, very, very judgmental. So while it might've been sucky for the extremity of religion, it was hellish for how easily everyone found that one thing which seemed out of place, and placed all their burdens upon it.
Getting out, I grab my backpack, wave to Fiona, and begin the walk. At the door, one of my only friends, Mack. Her hair was in a braid today, I noted as we waved to each other. Today must be off to a terrible start.
"Hey, Yusa," Mack grinned at me. "The ghouls seemed extra vicious today." Grinning back, I exhale and hide my necklace under my shirt.
Maybe I should explain. Ghouls are the term I used to describe our current bullies. Yes, our; Mack---whose real name is Erin---befriended me in our first year, and after my home and parents burnt to bits, joined the ranks among the bullied; I had seemed uncaring about their deaths, and that she remained my friend made them think she didn't care either, but I digress. I had come up with the term after a particularly silly spill with Geronimo Hacks, a prankster who had listed me as his target.
They don't have a brain, they don't have a life, and they haven't found their purpose. Until they find one of those three, we're stuck with them haunting us. Pretty accurate, I figured, and so it's stuck ever since.
"Oh? What'd they do?" Mack sighed before pointing at the banner---the banner I hadn't noticed, because I was too busy thinking. On it, painted in gold, were the words, You're Not Welcome Back, Bollix!
What a lovely welcome. I said as much, Mack smiled wryly, and together we made our way in to the wolf den.
Inside wasn't much better. Glares and whispers---okay, more like very loud talking that they pretend is private---follow the pair of us as we head to our first class. Today was the first day after winter break, so our classes hadn't changed, but it was a long enough absence to warrant a welcome back.
